"Commander Garrett will be replacing Mr. Joslin as XO," Lawless explained. "Temporarily." He came down hard on the final word.
Dougherty gave him a scrutinizing scan, top to bottom and back again. "Weren't you skipper of—"
"Yes, COB," Garrett replied.
"I think I'll have our XO take us out this afternoon, COB. Any problem with that?"
"No, sir. None at all." Dougherty grinned as though he shared a secret with the captain. "We'll just have the fender crews standing by!"
"No need, COB," Garrett said. He grinned. If he was going to be accepted by the Seawolf's crew, if he was going to have a prayer of fitting in, he would need to join in the fun. "I'll be fine… unless, of course, there are any Russian subs tied up at Yokosuka."
Dougherty laughed. "Heh! I'll be sure to have the lookouts keep a sharp watch!"
Lawless was going through Garrett's service records. He'd pulled out the thick folder that included his health records and began thumbing through the pages. Uh-oh, Garrett thought. Here it comes.
"Interesting" was Lawless's only comment, at least for several long moments as he stopped to read a page. "I find this somewhat disturbing, Commander," Lawless said at last. "You are under prescription for moderate to severe clinical depression."
"Yes, sir." He glanced briefly at Dougherty, who was carefully studying his coffee. The contents of a man's health records were confidential. While his commanding officer would have access to them, by rights no one else on board save the medical staff would normally be privy to their contents. A submarine's Chief of the Boat, however, was a special case, a minor deity who served as the direct link between the enlisted personnel and the officers — especially the boat's executive officer, who was responsible for the crew's performance. He needed to build trust with Dougherty, needed to build it both ways, and to build it quickly. Chances were, Lawless would share the information with the COB in any case. "Zoloft, one hundred milligrams."
"Is this something stemming from what happened with your former command?"
"That was a contributing factor, sir. As were my divorce and the apparent sidetracking of my career. You'll note, sir, that I have a clean bill of mental health."
"So long as you take your pills." Lawless frowned. "I am sorry to hear about your personal troubles, Commander. But this medical condition worries me. Depression is a killer. It is also a primary occupational hazard on board a submarine. Most submariners suffer from depression, to one extent or another, at some point in their careers. But if you are to be my exec, I need to know that you will function efficiently, without question, without hesitation. And I need to know that you will work well with my crew, that you will always be available to them, that you will not degrade their performance with your problems."
"You don't need to worry about that, Captain."
"I do need to worry about it, Commander. The Navy pays me to worry. I need to know I'll be able to count on you when the pressure's on. I expect you to do things by the book, Mr. Garrett, by the book."
"All I can say, sir, is that you'll have to give me a chance to prove myself."
"That is exactly what I intend to do. You'll have your chance. One. That's all I ever give anyone. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Lawless continued to page through Garrett's personnel record as if searching for something more, something to use. Garrett wondered if he'd been dismissed.
Lawless looked up. "Ah, Commander? One more thing."
"Yes, sir?"
He tapped the open folder he was going through. "Do you know what this is?"
Garrett couldn't see it from where he stood. "No, sir."
"Your security file." Lawless studied it a moment more. "Says here you've been dating a Japanese girl."
Garrett felt a cold fist closing in his gut. "That's right."
"That's a bit unusual, isn't it? Someone working for ONI, having a relationship with a foreign national?"
He had reported his relationship with Kazuko, as was required. Especially these days, the authorities were nervous about the possibility of terrorists getting hold of intelligence dealing with U.S. military deployments, base plans, or security.
"No, sir. Some of the guys at ONI are married to locals. Sir."
"I wouldn't want one of my officers to have trouble with enemy identification."
Anger flooded Garrett, coloring his face, but he kept his response rigidly under control. "That is not a problem with Ms. Mitsui, Captain."
"It had better not be. She only needs to gook us once—"
The racist epithet, used as a verb, burned. "That is uncalled for! Sir!"
"Is it?"
Garrett forced himself to unclench his fists. To relax. To press back the white fury. "Yes, sir. It is. Is there anything else? Sir."
He sighed. "No, no. Not now. Dismissed, Commander. COB? Why don't you show our new exec to his quarters, get him settled in."
"Aye aye, sir."
Garrett found himself trembling as he stepped out into the passageway. That damn racist bastard! Was it possible people still thought that way, felt that way in this day and age?
He took a deep breath. Yes, of course it was, unfortunately. Since September 11 and the start of the War on Terrorism, anyone not obviously American-born was suspect, along with anyone, American or not, who was a Moslem.
"This way, sir," Dougherty said, squeezing past him. A short way down the passageway to a cabin marked executive officer.
"Thank you, Master Chief."
"No problem, sir. Uh… listen… "
"Yes?"
"Don't let the Old Man get under your skin, Commander. He has a knack for pushing hard to find weakness, y'know?"
"Is that what you call it?"
"Don't get me wrong, sir. The captain's great. The men love him. But he can be damned tough on you until he gets your measure, until he knows what you're made of, you understand? He'll really put the pressure on in order to check out your crush depth, if y'take my meaning. Don't let him get your goat."
Garrett relaxed a bit. "Thank you, COB. I'll try to remember that."
"This is a good boat. The captain worked hard to get this assignment. He beat out I don't know how many other qualified submarine skippers to land it. The men are good, too, the very best of the very best. Only the best would get duty aboard the 'Wolf."
"I would have expected nothing less."
"Good. So, if you'd like to come on aft to the wardroom, I'll start introducing you around."
"Thanks, COB. I'd like that."
Four of the Seawolf's officers were in the wardroom, seated around the table that nearly filled a compartment that was relatively large by submariner standards.
"Lieutenant David Ward, our weapons officer," Dougherty said. "Lieutenant Ronald Simms, navigation. If we get lost, it's his fault."
"Fuck you, COB."
"Any time, sir, anyplace. The tall, gangly guy in the corner there is Lieutenant Tollini, our dive officer. And over by the door, where he can make a quick getaway, is Lieutenant j.g. Neimeyer, fresh out of sub school and ready to conn the Seawolf all by his lonesome. Gentlemen, this is Commander Garrett, our new exec."
The four nodded and murmured greetings. "Fresh meat!" Ward added. "You seen the skipper yet, sir?"
"Just did."
"Then you know what to expect. Seawolf is a tight boat."
"The brasswork shines," Simms added. "And if it doesn't, the Old Man'll damn well know why. By the book, people, by the book!"